Charlie Oen鈥檚 battle with addiction started when he was 16 and his family moved to Lima, Ohio. It was the last stop in a string of moves his military family made 鈥� from Panama to North Carolina, Kentucky, Texas and Germany.
鈥淚 went toward a bad group because those were the people that accepted me,鈥� he says. Drugs became a substitute for real friendships.
Radio story by Bram Sable-Smith, KBIA and Side Effects Media
He started drinking, popping pills, cooking meth and shooting heroin. He was homeless for a while when his parents kicked him out of the house. 鈥淚 would just be wandering the streets of Lima at all hours of the night until I found somewhere, chilled, sat down, fell asleep in an alley,鈥� he says.
By age 19, Charlie was serving a three-year sentence in prison on a burglary charge. That鈥檚 where he stopped using drugs. He spent the last five months of his sentence in a community-based correctional facility where he took classes and completed group work to learn about addiction. The lessons stuck.
鈥淚 started telling people, 鈥業 want to be a probation officer,鈥� and everybody knocked it,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey were like, 鈥榊ou can鈥檛 do that, you鈥檙e a felon.鈥� I said, 鈥楥heck it out, I鈥檓 going to do something.鈥� 鈥�
One year later, he started working as a peer recovery coach, using his own experiences to help other people stay in recovery.
Naloxone blocks or reverses the effects of opioid medication. (Seth Herald for NPR)
Charlie is one of five peer recovery coaches at Coleman Professional Services in Lima, and at age 25, he is by far the youngest. Each coach works with about 20 clients to help remove some of the impediments, big and small, to living a drug-free life. Some clients may need help learning to socialize without drugs or getting a ride to their recovery meetings. Others, like 52-year-old Anna Hershey, need more constant support.
鈥淚 texted you last night. I know it was late but I needed someone to talk to right away,鈥� she tells Charlie when they meet in Coleman鈥檚 parking lot the week before Thanksgiving. She鈥檇 argued with her boyfriend the night before, and anger is usually a trigger for her drug use. Charlie is her first recovery coach in over 30 years of addiction.
鈥淚鈥檓 proud of myself because I didn鈥檛 leave the house and go do the drugs, and that鈥檚 what I usually do when I get frustrated,鈥� she tells him.
Over the course of their 90-minute appointment, Charlie takes Anna to two food banks to pick up donated groceries, and then to check on her application to ring a bell for the Salvation Army this winter. It鈥檚 been approved, and despite the previous night鈥檚 quarrel, she鈥檚 excited to share that news with her boyfriend when Charlie drops her off at home.
Some days Charlie meets with as many as five clients. Today it鈥檚 just two: Anna and Shelly Cavinder.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not been a great day,鈥� Shelly tells Charlie as she gets in his car. She was written up twice in the morning at the women鈥檚 shelter where she鈥檚 living, which puts her on thin ice for the final two weeks of her stay. She鈥檚 moving into a new apartment and bought furniture in anticipation 鈥� but the unit where she鈥檚 storing the furniture got infested with cockroaches, and today, Charlie is helping her throw it all away.
Shelly is 50. She鈥檚 been using drugs since before Charlie was born. Still, she calls him her lifesaver. 鈥淚f I didn鈥檛 have Charlie, I would probably be back on drugs and dead,鈥� she says. 鈥淗e even talks to me on his days off, you know, after hours when I have an issue.鈥�
鈥淚 appreciate that Shelly,鈥� Charlie says. She smiles and pats his leg.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e welcome,鈥� she replies.
The little pick-me-ups and attagirls Charlie gives Shelly every day go a long way to keeping her from becoming a statistic. There were 52,000 drug overdose deaths in the United States in 2015, 18 of them in this small Ohio county alone. Addiction is a tough disease to beat and relapse rates are high.
It can be easy to forget sometimes that Charlie has his own history with addiction, one he still deals with to this day. His first job out of prison was making salads at the Texas Roadhouse. He left the job when he was hired as a peer recovery coach two years ago.
He wants to continue working in the recovery field and plans on going to school to get a social work degree. But last year he started working three nights a week again at the Texas Roadhouse to help pay off his court fees, something he has to do before he can start taking classes. He鈥檚 got $2,900 to go, down from $10,000. 鈥淭his is what I do to get the judicial system off my back,鈥� he says.
After everything is paid off, he says he鈥檒l keep working two jobs for a while, 鈥渢o build the bank back up a little.鈥�
Every day he makes a point to do something for himself 鈥� he鈥檚 in recovery, too, so focusing on self-care can be just as important as caring for his clients. Lately he鈥檚 been playing soccer at a park near his house, sometimes with friends, other times alone. 鈥淓arly in the morning there鈥檒l be no cars driving,鈥� he says. 鈥淎ll you hear is your feet and the grass and the ball flying through the sky. It feels good.鈥�
Charlie is five years clean, three years out of prison and has spent more than two years as a peer recovery coach. He has a lot of life to live. But, he says, 鈥淲hen people ask, 鈥榃here do you see yourself in five years?鈥� I鈥檝e never had an answer. Because three years ago I didn鈥檛 think I鈥檇 be having this interview today.鈥�
鈥淪o just as long as I continuously do what I鈥檝e got to do and stay positive, stay out of the way and continue to want to strive, something will come my way. The doors will open.鈥�
Meredith Rizzo, Carmel Wroth, Nancy Shute, Gisele Grayson and Diane Webber edited this story, which is part of a reporting partnership with 补苍诲听